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Near Life Experience: In a Parallel Universe Part III
by Holly Hagan Continued.
My mom said I should think of Daniel as my brother, and that I shouldn’t show him how to do bad things. In a parallel universe, he would someday be my brother-in-law, and he would have become a part of my family. “Bad things” in my mom’s mind was smoking pot, but Riley probably would have smoked with him that summer if he were alive. I showed him how to cover the carb as he inhaled, and when he should uncover it, and how long he should hold the smoke in and when he should exhale.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this.”
He shook his head as he let the gray cloud go.
“I smoked with some friends last year.”
“Oh, I wanted to be the first person you smoked with.”
“Riley wanted to be the first person,”
“Yeah.”
“I miss him,” he said.
“I do, too.”
“Do you think he was mad at me?”
“Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “He always sent letters and gifts, and I never did anything except get him a lousy subscription to Rolling Stone for his birthday.”
“He talked about you all the time,” I said. “He loved you.”
“I want to show you something.”
He unzipped his bag and pulled out a tangle of green wire. When he held it up, I saw the stem branching off into leaves—one on each side—and then the petals.
“Cool,” I grabbed it by the stem. Riley always told me how Daniel made sculptures—castles out of packing peanuts. He also always said how he would never be able to take us anywhere together because neither of us would be able to make up our minds on where we wanted to go.
I leaned over, and I knew what I was going to do before I did it. I knew it couldn’t be on the lips—that would be wrong. This was already wrong. I leaned over and pressed my lips against his forehead. I puckered them, and they made a soft sound on his brow. I pulled away, and he giggled. After all, he is fifteen.
I sat back. I made the first move.
In a parallel universe, Daniel would someday be my brother-in-law, but in this universe, he took my hand and laid it on the bed, and I lay with him, and we were just lying there side-by-side. His palm was sweaty, I thought, or maybe it was my sweat transferring onto his palm. When I heard his breath become shallower, I pulled my hand out of his. I wanted to feel guilty—the old Catholic guilt—but I told myself it wasn’t my fault, I told myself I needed it.
I crawled into the other bed, and at about 3:00am, Jackie stumbled in. She whipped back the covers, almost right off me. I faced Daniel, but I didn’t have my glasses on, so he looked like a dark lump over the covers.
I forgot that Jackie snored when she was drunk. We were roommates last year and I knew how it sounded coming from the bottom bunk, but not from right next to me.
She threw one leg over mine.
“Oh, Mike,” she said.
***
Only a few months ago, I was having the same dream every night. In the dream, I was chasing him down a crowded street, and I would be out of breath from running, but he was strolling, not even breaking a sweat. I'd catch up with him right before he turned a corner. That was when he'd turn around and I'd see his face, but there was always something not quite right. Maybe his eyes would be blue instead of brown, or his hair would be lighter, but I knew it was him by the way he smiled at me over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner.
Three months later, and I dreamt every night of walking across a cemetery. In my hands were a bouquet of daisies—I didn’t know why because there was no significance behind them, but it’s something I’d decided on in my dream. I carried them across the lawn, mushy under my feet, but when I got there, it was a hole with dry, crumbling soil shoveled to the sides. There was nothing at the bottom and no stone. The center of the flowers is the color of egg yolk.
To be continued.
June 5, 2007
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